Spinster Ever After (The Spinster Chronicles #7) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,39
Michael, standing as he was in the center of the room, arms still outstretched, could not see what it was.
“Apparently, a gentleman bachelor is not an appropriate situation for the brother of Lord Eden.” Tyrone scoffed darkly. “I had hoped that Martha would be able to keep him out of my business for a good year or so, but it seems even her charms are not enough to call a halt to his efforts.”
Hugh frowned and looked at his brother for a moment. “Does it bother you that I am a gentleman without occupation?”
“No,” came the droll reply. “But you have an estate that produces well. Tyrone here…”
“Tyrone has a valet who won’t help us,” Tyrone announced, changing the subject to Michael and downing his new glass of Madeira. “Which leaves us with few options.”
“Wait a moment!”
They all paused at the voice, looking around at each other in dismay.
“Who invited her?” Michael asked darkly, willing to murder any man here for what he was about to be subjected to.
But each man had innocent expressions, which left only an individual not present.
Alice.
Michael glared at the Sterling brothers. “Alice has a cruel sense of humor.”
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Hugh insisted.
The last of the steps outside the room stopped, and the door opened to reveal the resplendent Miranda Sterling, silvery blue bonnet in one hand, her gloves in the other. Also in her hand was a lead attached to the drooping form of her beloved hound, Rufus.
“Dear, dear, dear,” Miranda said as she looked Michael over. “How is it that we never noticed this before? What a dreadful mess.”
“Ah, such vision,” the valet praised, rising from his chair and offering it grandly to Miranda, who took it at once, Rufus sitting calmly beside her.
Michael scowled at them both, which was apparently exactly what the valet needed.
“Ooh,” he said with some interest, considering Michael as if from a new angle. “Now there is a look I can dress. The brooding gentleman of wealth and consequence is every fair maiden’s wish.”
Tyrone exhaled a loud groan. “No, Stone, Michael isn’t going to be the new Mr. Darcy, thank you.”
“Why not?” Stone asked. “Real men never live up to the fictional ones; all of the maids say so.”
The men in the room looked around at each other, and Tyrone stared at his valet in amused surprise. “Do they? And who are they saying this to?”
Stone’s face became a mask. “I’m sure I do not know, sir. I only hear things.”
“I’m sure you do.” Tyrone nodded at Miranda and gestured to Michael. “Well?”
Miranda pursed her lips, her fingers absently scratching at the back of Rufus’s head. “It would be all very well if this was the country, and I understand that Mr. Sandford has spent a deal of time at his country estate of late. Is that not so?”
“It is,” Michael conceded, unsure where Miranda wished to take this line of questioning.
She nodded knowingly. “Such a lovely place, Crestor Grove. You must be so very proud to be master of it.”
Michael blinked, knowing full well that Miranda Sterling had never set foot on the property of Crestor Grove in her entire life. “I am, yes. It’s done very well since my father’s death, despite my failings.”
“Such devotion to the family estate and your heritage,” Miranda simpered, almost seeming to tear up. “Such tireless efforts to improve life for your mother, your sisters, and your sweet brother Peter. You can hardly think about yourself with all of that weighing on you, can you?”
What in the world was she talking about? Michael had certainly been dedicating much of his energy to improving the estate, but it was not as though his father had left it in ruins. They had been well set up in his death, and his sisters had dowries that were secure. Peter would need a profession one day, but so did most younger sons in England.
And Michael could think of himself because he not only had an intelligent and capable estate agent, but a mother who could run the place better than any man he’d ever met, including his father. Michael was barely needed at Crestor Grove, though he was supposed to be lord and master of it.
Before Michael could answer, Miranda looked at Stone with damp eyes. “Such a worthy gentleman deserves the very best, wouldn’t you agree, Stone?”
“Yes, my lady,” Stone agreed without hesitation.
“He could hardly be expected to maintain London fashions while so dedicated to matters in the country, could he?”